


On Days of Wind and Rain, I Think

by nisakomi



Category: K-pop, SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-11 00:10:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5606221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nisakomi/pseuds/nisakomi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this timeline, Mingming doesn't leave Seventeen pre-debut. In this timeline, Junhui's still holding onto the one that got away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Days of Wind and Rain, I Think

**Author's Note:**

> —[buxiban](http://buxiban.tumblr.com) (i can't thank you enough for making this for me ;o;)

Junhui wakes up with his heart pounding and a thrum in his head that makes him bolt into an upright position. The adrenaline coursing through his body keeps his vision crisp and clear even in the darkness, and he quickly rolls over to feel for the body that was supposed to be sleeping on the bed next to his.

‘ _I need to see his face, I need to see his face, he’s still here, he’s definitely still here,_ ’ he chants in his mind, shoving aside a thick duvet and fighting back tears.

He fumbles to hold Mingming’s shoulders with both his hands in a tight grip, arms shaking with fear. Junhui’s racing heart beat finally subsides. He breathes in deeply through his nose, and breathes out with a whoosh through his mouth.

Mingming scrunches his nose at the tickling sensation from the air blown at his face, stirring reluctantly because of the fingers clutching at him. He had been thinking pleasant thoughts in sleep, of sweet cotton candy clouds and blissfully soft pillows. Every minute of sleep they could get was important and precious.

“Wha’s goin’ on?” Mingming croaks out, eyes squinting open. He groans while Junhui pats him down, palms pressed to the skin of his forearms as Mingming comes to recognize where they are.

“Just a dream,” Junhui whispers with no small amount of relief. His shoulders sag and he smacks Mingming’s chest half-heartedly. “Thank God it was just a dream.”

Junhui slinks back to his own bed, sliding his body back under the covers and lying down, staring at the wooden planks supporting the bunk above his and readjusting the position of his head on the pillow.

Mingming turns to his side to face Junhui. “What kind of dream prompted that kind of reaction?” he demands, eyes closed again now that he knows no danger is imminent. He’s almost drifted back to sleep when Junhui quietly murmurs the reply.

“A nightmare. A genuine nightmare. I dreamt that you left the company before we debuted and you weren’t part of Seventeen and went to train somewhere else and we mostly fell out of touch and it was like living through Muel-ah and Doyoon-hyung and Dongjinnie all over again.” Even as he speaks, the tendrils of the dream snake away from his mind, each image fading as quickly as it had come. It disappears entirely from his memory by the time he’s finished recounting the general gist, and Junhui is left with nothing more than the sweat making his shirt cling to his back. He’s relaxed again.

Mingming shakes his head and purses his lips, pulling the covers back up to his neck. He slides one hand under the pillow beneath his head, brushing his skin against the cool fabric between the sheets. He smirks lazily without opening his eyes. “Damn that’s detailed. But also so impossible. Face it, if I ever leave you’re gonna fall apart. Who’s gonna look after you? I’m basically duty bound to stick around to make sure you’re okay.”

From half a metre away, Junhui grunts and kicks out a foot into Mingming’s shin. Mingming frowns, but it doesn’t hurt enough for him to want to expend any energy on retaliating. Sleepily, he realizes that he doesn’t want Junhui thinking he’s gone soft, but he’s also so comfortable he doesn’t want to lash out.

“You’re crazy. I’m older than you, I’m the one who looks after you, obviously.” Junhui says, interrupting Mingming’s thoughts. He retracts his leg back to the warmth and safety of his own mattress.

Well, Mingming can get him back in the morning. He’s already thought up six ways how to inflict pain on him without anyone else noticing.

“You’re right,” Mingming mutters, “I must be crazy for putting up with you all the time. There’s no other explanation for why I tolerate your presence.”

Junhui snorts. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.”

Mingming rolls over again, so that his face is pressed into the pillow. It muffles his voice when he says, “Whatever. Just go back to sleep, hyung, and stop having weird dreams.”

 

* * *

 

“Lee Jihoon if you don’t wake up now we’re going to become thirteen members plus three subunits plus one ghost makes Seventeen!” Seungcheol hollers from his seat at the table. He has one knee folded with his foot resting on the spindle of his chair, the other leg dangling freely off the side.

“Let him sleep some more,” Junghan chides while holding out a peeled hard-boiled egg to Chan. His hair is frizzy from bed, but he retains an ethereal glow. “I don’t think he got back until around four this morning.”

“I know, that’s why I let him sleep while everyone else was waking up. But if we don’t start nagging him to get up now, he’s not going to be ready for make-up in time,” Seungcheol says gently. He reaches out a hand to pick off a tiny piece of yolk stuck to the side of Chan’s lips and clucks his tongue.

“I’ll go get him,” Soonyoung says, pushing back his chair to stand and stretch before padding off in thick white socks to the bedroom.

Wonwoo returns from the kitchen, a jar of hot sauce in his hand, and takes the newly unoccupied seat. He pulls both of his bare feet up to rest on the seat, and snags Soonyoung’s chopsticks to scoop out hot sauce for his eggs.

At the other end of the table, Mingming holds a triangle of toast in his mouth as he loops a belt around his jeans. He nearly loses it from opening his mouth in surprise when he’s jabbed in the cheek by one of Junhui’s fingers. Junhui catches the bread and swaps it out for a piece that’s liberally covered in jam. Mingming doesn’t thank him, rather, he gives him a piercing look for almost wasting food.

“Look at those eye bags,” Junhui coos, brazen. He folds the piece of toast that previously belonged to Mingming in half, and takes a large bite of the crust.

“Don’t talk about eye bags,” Seungkwan admonishes, eyes barely open as he waits for the jam. His toast is rolled up and he holds it like it’s a microphone. “I don’t want to think about how many pounds of concealer all of us have to use. Anyway, Jisoo-hyung’s aegyo-sal is basically his greatest charm.”

“That’s right,” Junghan encourages. He plucks the bread out of Seungkwan’s hand to spread jam on it for him, holding it in front of Seungkwan’s mouth when he’s done so all Seungkwan needs to do is bite and chew.

From the other side, Seungcheol pouts and points at himself.

“Yes yes, you too, Cheol, all of you, very cute, now hurry up and eat.” Junghan pats Mingyu’s cheek before he opens his mouth to throw his name into the fray as well.

There’s a scuffle of chairs on the floor, and when everyone looks up, Junhui’s holding Mingming in a chokehold. Hansol is the only person who blinks, and everyone goes back to chewing or changing or lazy conversations without bothering to wonder what’s happened this time.

“Is it weird that their fighting is normal to us?” Minghao whispers to Seokmin out of concern.

Seokmin shrugs, unworried as he tries to get rid of the tiny flecks of shell still stuck to his egg. He looks up and pats Minghao on the head. “I’m just really glad you’re normal.” He stuffs the entire egg into his mouth, and flashes Minghao a quick, closed-mouth smile with cheeks stuffed.

Minghao smiles that self-satisfied smirk he does whenever he’s simultaneously embarrassed and pleased. He darts his eyes back over to Junhui and Mingming, and experiences a few milliseconds of surprise when he realizes they’re simply sitting side-by-side on the same chair now, peacefully eating together, as if Mingming hadn’t just been trying to dig a hole through Junhui’s arm to get him to let go of his ear moments prior.

It only takes him those few milliseconds to remember that while the fighting was normal, their easy camaraderie and close physical affection was normal too. He goes back to eating, the sounds of Soonyoung and Jihoon’s shrieks filling the dorms like background music.

 

* * *

 

It’s still dark outside when they get to the make-up studio, stumbling out of the cars one by one with bleary eyes and freezing arms. They huddle in their sweaters and run to the door, bare faces dry in the wind. By the time they’re all finished and ready to go, it’s already daylight and everyone has taken an average of two point seven naps during the times when they weren’t sitting in the chair, watching their own transformations through a too brightly lit mirror.

Junhui’s hair is sticky and stiff beneath his fingers when he reaches up to brush the ends off his forehead.

“Stop doing that,” Mingyu admonishes from his seat behind him. He leans over, towering up over the chair, to fix his bangs and style them again.

“Why do we spend money on hair and make-up artists when we have you?” Seungkwan laughs and pats Mingyu’s thigh.

From his other side, Mingming pipes up, “Mingyu-ya, does my hair look okay?” He grins and bats his eyelashes.

Mingyu slaps his wrist, but he’s smiling. His hand slips between Mingming’s side and his elbow so that their arms are linked together. He has to lean down a little to have their heads lean against each other, resting there for the remainder of the car ride.

Mingming turns his head to stare out the window, eyes following the inky shapes of telephone lines set across a grey sky. It’s been threatening to rain for days now. Mingming blinks and shoves his hands into his coat pockets, although he doesn’t let go of Mingyu’s arm. If only it would just rain so the sun could come out again.

In the other car, Jihoon shrugs his shoulder with annoyance. “Urgh get your face off my shoulder, you’re going to get BB cream stains on my collar!” Jihoon grumbles, eyes closed.

“Are you napping?” Chan asks innocently, cheekily.

“Nah, don’t say things like that, or I’ll make Jihoon eat you while _you’re_ napping.” Seungcheol turns his head over so his hair was pressed up against his arm instead, mouth left slightly open.

Jihoon snaps, “Now you’ll get flakes of gel all over my clothes, thanks a lot.”

“Don’t be grumpy. Look.” Seungcheol waves out the window at a fan whose camera is bigger than her face, finger flittering up and down on the shutter button faster than a StarCraft player with an APM over 300.

They arrive outside the broadcasting studio around the same time most people are just waking up, already settled into their idol image, cheeks caked in pasty foundation and brushed over with setting powder. Jihoon tugs back the corners of his lips as best he can while he exists the car, in something that could potentially be described as a pained smile. Someone shrieks his name at a decibel level that’s too intense for this early in the morning. There’s another shout of “Channie!” that’s somehow even louder. His pained smile turns more pleased grimace.

Minghao and Seungkwan have coordinated a skipping routine down the pavement that results in a chorus of giggling. They turn when they get to the end to wave, before heading inside with smug smiles.

“I wish I could just go to bed every night and wake up in the morning somehow showered and done-up in outfits and make-up,” Soonyoung grumbles. He keeps his lips curled into a smirk for the cameras that are lingering nearby, and he speaks with his teeth squeezed together to prevent anyone from trying to read lips or overhear his whispered speech. Soonyoung waves at a tiny girl in a giant fur coat holding up a poster with his name in fluorescent cardstock.

Beside him, Seokmin stares with genuine joy at someone jumping up and down with their hand up in the air, chanting “DK! DK!” He bows to her and out of the corner of his mouth, tells Soonyoung, “Don’t front. You love it.”

There’s a wave of shrieking for when Wonwoo steps out of the car, another cheer going up for Hansol, and finally defeaning screams for Mingyu and Jisoo who rush side by side to the entrance. Junghan’s hair flip makes someone burst into tears.

Mingming and Junhui pull up the rear. The crowd is mostly dispelled at this point, but Junhui waves with both his hands anyway as they run to join the others. He pats Mingming’s butt after he gets through the door, and Mingming finally removes his hands from his pockets to retaliate by pinching his forearm. Mingming’s laughter is dry, like the wind and the grey clouds that refuse to let down their water.

 

* * *

 

They go through rehearsals and run-throughs for their title song every week, but instead of seeing linear improvement with each music show, there are periods of stagnation, and even times when it feels like the dancing is getting worse.

Soonyoung calls it the “Crabs Walk Sideways in Order to Move Forwards” effect. As soon as the choreography and vocals are committed to muscle memory, it becomes harder to focus on individual elements. The more you think about what you’re doing, right or wrong, the more you mess up. At that point any bad habits or incorrect movements are pretty much ingrained into your performance and good luck working on changing pitch for a line that now seems in tune to you.

“Honestly, we’re not even changing up the choreo to entertain the public. The point is to challenge your brain so you don’t get complacent or end up simply going through the motions. This way you’re always questioning what you’re supposed to be doing next, in order not to mix things up, and you can actually get better at things.”

The constant updates on the choreography were great and useful in that regard, but only when the members weren’t too exhausted to expend brainpower on both coming up with new ideas and then practicing them.

That was the reason behind Mingming nearly running into Seokmin while transitioning from his one line in the song to the second chorus for their last live broadcast performance. His brain is jumbled up from sleep deprivation, energy supplies channelling directly into his limbs to keep himself moving. They avoid each other at the last minute, Mingming swerving way out of position before finding his spot again. He shakes his head vigorously in time with the choreography, trying to clear up the haziness.

He gets chewed out when they monitor, but he’s too tired to feel anything. It takes quite a bit of effort for him to look appropriately abashed, apologizing profusely and promising, “It won’t happen again, I’ll definitely do better next time. Yes, I’m focused, yes, I will try to think clearly, yes, I understand what’s required of me and that this is not a game.”

Seungcheol ruffles his hair affectionately back at the dorms, familiar with the treatment. He’s been scolded so often as the leader, but also for making mistakes during performances, that his skin has become thicker out of necessity. Mingyu hands him a can of Milkis on his way out of the kitchen, and Minghao slips a lollipop into his pockets. Seokmin looked ready to cry when he sees him, face apologetic as he pats his back during a tight hug.

It feels over the top, being treated like glass over something that doesn’t seem like a big deal. The fact of the matter is nothing super jarring occurred, and it doesn’t seem worth it to fret over a song where he gets a total of 2.5% of the line distribution anyway. The error happened, nothing could change that factBeing yelled at didn’t change that fact either, and it wasn’t like he was unaware that he did something wrong before someone else told him.

At least Junhui knows better than to touch him when he collapses onto a bed. After closing the door and draws the curtains, Junhui sits on the floor beside him, and rests his head against the wall. He’s watching Mingming out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t say anything.

Mingming flings an arm over his eyes even though Junhui’s done the best he could to make the room dark. Light streams in past the storm clouds and the curtains. He doesn’t sleep. His thoughts are too jumbled for that, and there’s a restlessness that’s coming to the surface of his skin. It’s not this incident, he doesn’t believe, that’s triggered something in him. Rather, he just never noticed the itch before, and this day has simply made him aware of its existence. Now that he’s conscious of its existence, it threatens to drive him insane.

The only thing that keeps him steady is Junhui’s even breathing, his warm and solid presence a buoy for a man fighting against the ocean.

 

* * *

 

Schedules get pretty quiet once they go back to album preparations instead of promotions. It leaves them with a tiny bit of free time, so they can go eat lunch freely instead of scarfing it down between schedules.

Junhui sweet-talks Wonwoo away from the practice rooms, (“You’ve been working so hard, your raps are the best in hip hop team anyway, you deserve a break, yes, spicy food.”) and the three of them have all you can eat Si Chuan hot pot. Having three people lets them add lamb to their meat options so they can have a little bit of more things, rather than a lot of fewer.

It’s uncomfortably warm as soon as the waiters turn on the fire, and it’s coming from the stovetop, the boiling water, and just seeing the food leaves a heat on Mingming’s tongue. There are so many red chili peppers floating around in the soup that it’s hard to see what could possibly be underneath. Junhui hums when he notices, a soft smile playing on his lips as he starts dumping in all the vegetables and tofu that takes longer to cook than meat. The spicier the better, as far as he’s concerned.

The thing is, Mingming doesn’t really like mala. The tingling feeling of his lips and numbness in his tongue makes him feel like he’s at the dentist, being injected with local anesthetic from a giant needle in preparation to fill in a cavity. But he’s been letting Junhui train him on clear noodles in chili sauce, beef slices in chili sauce, boiled fish in chili sauce, everything in chili sauce. It’s a mission, so that one day he can visit Chong Qing with Junhui and his mother and survive the restaurants there.

Someday. Not anytime soon though, by the looks of things. Their definition of a vacation is a single day when they can do something like this. Getting on a plane to live somewhere else for a week is the kind of thing that belongs to a different person in a different life. One that’s not Mingming’s anymore.

“I can’t tell if I want to eat more, or never want to eat this again,” Wonwoo tells them, halfway through slurping up enoki mushrooms and rolls of sliced beef. He’s panting, sweating, but doesn’t look away from his food. He wipes at his mouth with a napkin and then returns to alternating between sucking in air to cool his tongue and shoving pieces of tofu into his mouth.

Junhui swoops in and plucks a piece of wayward squid out of Wonwoo’s bowl, saving him before he accidentally gets an allergic reaction, and dangles it with his chopsticks in front of Mingming’s mouth. Mingming obediently says “Ah” and Junhui continues to feed him vegetables, potato slices, beef, lamb, and pork, until enough is enough and Mingming yells at him, “I have my own hands and chopsticks, what’s wrong with you? You aren’t, for the record, a bird with new hatchlings. Aren’t you going to eat anything?”

The chopsticks are pulled back and tucked between Junhui’s lips. He’s frowning cutely and Mingming almost feels bad for being angry. They both start to say something, but are interrupted by Wonwoo’s choking laughter, which results in him getting a burning sensation up his nose and down his throat. It takes both Mingming and Junhui smacking his back and passing him sips of cold tea for Wonwoo’s eyes to stop watering, by which point the whole issue had been forgotten.

Mingming doesn’t exactly miss having Junhui feed him, but he feels a little bereft from Junhui not showering him with attention.

 

* * *

 

“Fuck, _harder_ , go fucking faster, you asshole,” Junhui hisses, weight mostly on his forearms and his knees. Both his hands are grasping the same bedpost, fingers pressed tightly against the wood so that his nails are white from the pressure.

“It seems to me,” Mingming grunts, “that you’re really the one who’s the asshole here.” His breath comes in quick pants that match his unchanged pace.

There’s a quick head shake during which Junhui’s hair falls over his eyes. He dips his head, and changes the way his arms are held to relieve the strain in his muscles. “Not…the fucking…time…for your shitty ass…jokes.” Junhui mewls when Mingming hits a good spot and pushes back with his thigh muscles to get him to do it again.

“Shitty ass jokes or shitty _ass_ jokes?” Mingming whispers, nails digging into Junhui’s hip bones to get a rise out of him. But Junhui’s loosening around him and the loss of friction is a damn crime. He finally complies with the request, sending Junhui into making a series of low whining noises punctuated by rather loud swearing.

“See? You can’t even take it when I go faster.” Mingming throws a pillow at Junhui so he can shove it into his mouth and cover up some of the noises he’s making. Not that Mingming doesn’t like them, but while they’re not explicitly hiding from the other members, they are trying to be discreet, especially about…this aspect of their relationship. Junhui doesn’t argue with him, too caught up in scratching for better grip against the wooden slats of the bed, back arched and whole body quivering. At least the mattress doesn’t squeak.

It’s all a bit futile in the end, when Junhui releases the pillow from his teeth as he comes, crying bloody murder and throwing caution to the wind. Mingming slaps his ass for that, before rubbing the red mark and squeezing firmly. Junhui faceplants into the sheets, balancing on his chest and knees. His hands wind around Mingming’s thighs, clutching at his legs and squeezing around him until Mingming found release.

“We’re out of condoms and lube,” Mingming announces, tying off the condom, and tightening the knot with a loud snap of latex. He covers it with a wad of tissues, bunching them up to hide any evidence as best he can.

Junhui rouses himself from his languid search for all his articles of clothing and tosses him an empty wrapper originally containing rice crackers. Mingming stuffs the tissues into the package before rewrapping in more paper towel and tossing the entire thing into a trash can. It makes a crinkling sound as it gets knocked around, but looks otherwise innocuous among the other garbage. He dresses quickly and turns to look at Junhui expectantly.

“Well maybe you should be less fucking horny,” Junhui grouches, finally managing to get the white polo shirt over his head. It sits in a loop around his neck, like a scarf, as he leans his weight back onto his hands, feet kicking idly. Mingming doesn’t ask if he’s cold just lazing around in his boxers.

“You’re really grumpy for someone who looked pleasantly fucked not two second ago. Should I have recorded that last moan to replay for you at opportune moments?”

Junhui pouts, crawling over to lay his head on Mingming’s upper thigh. At least he’s dressed and Mingming’s too spent to think about what he could do if he just turned his head a little. “Yeah, that was until I realized that my ass is going to be sore as fuck while sitting through all the interviews for the rest of this week.”

Mingming snorts. “I feel absolutely no sympathy for you, do you remember that time you thought it was a good idea to fuck me three times in a single day and then left me hanging dry when Seungcheol-hyung asked why I kept wincing _while we were in front of management_.”

“That was delightful! You look so pretty when you squirm. All flushed and pouty…I should do that more often.” Junhui’s grin is wide and mischievous, and Mingming knows his eyes are dancing without having to see them.

“Why am I not surprised that you get off on other people’s embarrassment, honestly. Fuck off!”

Junhui presses his face to Mingming’s crotch, nuzzling him through his jeans. He looks up at Mingming from hooded eyes and runs his tongue over his upper lip. “Hmm..should I?”

 

* * *

 

There was a time, maybe two years ago, when Junhui was genuinely terrified of Hyelim-noona. Not because she was scary or cruel, but because her eye was uncanny, and she always caught things even if you thought she wasn’t looking. She worked them hard because she knew them well, and pushed them to their limits, before pushing them again so they’d surpass them. For all his fear, he was also extremely grateful for her guidance over their training days, and thereafter.

It probably helps that the language barrier has really dissipated with exposure and practice. He’s not scared of her anymore, although he’s still wary of her abilities and the power she has over them. The authority to say, “Hah. You thought we were done? In your dreams,” or to bark out, “Get down and give me ten push ups!”

In the end, it’s not Yoon Hyelim who drives Seventeen like slaves, but Kwon Soonyoung himself. Soonyoung’s always been ambitious. He’s hard-working, intelligent, kind, patient…but also exacting. He wants details perfected, and now that he’s working out of his own vision for the dance performances, he knows exactly what he wants. Luckily, he also usually has a pretty good idea of how to get all of them there.

Even more than Hyelim-noona, he can push. Because he’s worked just as long as the rest of them, they can’t hide their energy reserves. If he’s still moving, the rest of them have to be moving too, especially because Soonyoung puts in extra time outside of rehearsals in order to come up with the choreography anyway. Junhui has a lot of respect for him, and he demonstrates it, perhaps weirdly, by being clingy and affectionate so that Soonyoung knows he’s appreciated.

That doesn’t mean Soonyoung can’t be an asshole though. He runs them ragged one night, when they’re particularly productive, because things keep working out and people keep getting things right quickly. It’s more a testament to his teaching skills than anything else, but he overfishes—they weren’t doing so well because they still had energy left, that was a false correlation.

Hansol very literally collapses into a mirror, forehead first, after tripping over Chan, who had splayed out across the floor with his eyes closed to try to get the room to stop spinning. The resulting crash finally cues Soonyoung to how boneless everyone looks, with their sweat droplets covered in sweat of their own. The members with the most endurance are panting so heavily that it’s like having mini fans positioned around the room.

“Sorry guys,” Soonyoung says sheepishly. He becomes aware of his own exhaustion through that admission, and he leans back against the wall for support. His voice is gentler, kinder when he says, “Let’s call it a night?”

No one has the energy to cheer at that announcement. Jihoon crawls, one hand in front of the other, to his towel and water bottle at a chair, but gives up when his arms are too weak to untwist the cap. Junghan’s hair looks like it’s just been washed, it’s so wet from his sweat, and Jisoo’s huffs tickle coldly at Junghan’s neck so that he shivers.

In the end, by leaning against each other’s shoulders to share the burden of walking, and with Seungcheol and Junhui physically dragging or carrying the particularly exhausted ones, they manage to get back to the dorms and all of them pass out on the floor in the living room before they can make it into the beds.

Junhui’s the only one alive enough to take a shower, and he leaves the bathroom drying his hair to find a heap of sleeping children. There’s a quiet and familiar ringing coming from behind the sofa, and Junhui digs out Mingming’s phone to see that his mother is WeChat video calling him. He looks down at Mingming, who’s conked out with his mouth hanging open, a tiny bit of drool escaping his mouth. Junhui turns back to the phone and his socked feet pad into the bedroom before he picks up.

“Hi auntie, how are you?” Junhui asks in his clear toned Mandarin, keeping his voice low even though the members don’t seem likely to wake up anytime soon.

“Wen Junhui, is that you?”

Junhui smiles and nods at her blurry image, face a mosaic from the lag in the internet.

“Where’s my silly son? He told me he’d call today but it’s nearly three in the morning where you are and I haven’t heard from him.”

“Auntie, shouldn’t you be asleep too? Staying up late isn’t good for your health.”

Her face becomes clearer on the phone screen, and her expression is soft. “Once in a while is fine if it means I get to talk to my son.”

“He’s asleep right now. We just got back from a pretty tiring practice and everyone crashed as soon as we got home. I can go wake him up…if you’d like?” Junhui looks up at the door hesitantly.

“Then why are you awake, young man?” She laughs. “Don’t wake him up, I’m sure he’d only be angry I’d interrupted his sleep. Is he okay?”

“Yes, of course.” He fiddles with the towel still in his hand. “I’d be lying if I said we weren’t a little tired, but I’m sure Mingming would tell you not to worry. He can handle it, he’s a big boy. We all do our best to look after each other, too, so auntie doesn’t have to be too concerned.”

“I’ll be very worried anyway,” she replies. “It’s because you’re not a parent yet so you don’t really know this feeling, but a mother’s heart is always anxious about everything.” She smiles wryly at him and is silent for a moment. “Although…He’s really lucky to have you, you know? I’m really glad to know he has a gege like you by his side, and that does ease my heart a little.”

For Junhui’s part, his heart leaps to his throat. Did she know…? “What do you mean? Everyone cares about each other.” He keeps his voice as calm as possible, and hopes the internet prevents her from singing any changes in his facial expression.

“You’ve always been so kind to him, and he talks about you the most, of course. There’s 14 of you! There’s bound to be a few that are better friends than others, right?” She laughs again, eyes crinkled and showing her teeth. It reminds him of Mingming’s laugh and Junhui’s heart does a backflip inside his ribcage. “Since we’re talking now, do you know if there’s anything bothering him?”

Junhui racks his brain but can’t think of any reason for Mingming to be less than happy. “I don’t think so?”

“That sounds more like a question than an answer.” She frowns very slightly. “He’s seemed more serious in the past few phone calls I’ve had with him.”

He draws his eyebrows together and considers this. “I think…he might just be tired,” he says slowly. “I know that’s probably repetitive to you and not what you want to hear but I think I feel it a little too.” He thinks about Mingming’s face in recent days. “I mean, I guess he doesn’t smile as openly as he used to, but his laughter hasn’t changed? Like he’s forcing himself to be happy sometimes when there are cameras around. But, I think we’re all acting like we have the energy we used to. It’s easier to laugh than be always smiling when you haven’t really been sleeping.” He scratches at his forehead. “I really do think that after some rest we’ll be okay.”

She returns to a smile and looks ready to reach through her phone screen to pat his cheek. “I know it’s hard work, doing your jobs. Mingming’s dad and I raised him to be able to endure life’s hardships, just like yours did, I’m sure. And he’s tough, he can do it. As long as he’s happy, I’m happy. That’s all I care about.”

“I’ll do my best,” Junhui says, yawning, before he can consider the implications of what doing his best to make Mingming happy means.

“If you can keep him happy, you can get married,” she jokes. Junhui is alert again, but she really does seem to be just joking. “Anyway, you’re tired and I should let you go. Get some sleep, alright?”

Junhui suppresses his second yawn. “I’ll let him know you called and get him to talk to you in the morning when we wake up, is that okay?”

“Sure.” Before she hangs up she says softly, “You’re truly a good kid, little Jun.”

 

* * *

 

Other than to nag Mingming for having promised to call his mother but falling asleep, Junhui mostly forgets the conversation ever happened. At least part of the reason is because he himself was half asleep as they spoke, brain shut off even though he was awake. It floats to the back of his mind, settling somewhere he doesn’t have conscious access.

It’s recording time, now, since the song composition is completed, launching them back into days of busier schedules. Seokmin offers to go over the Korean pronunciation with the Chinese members, and Seungkwan joins them. As their session progresses, the attention turns to focusing on Minghao’s enunciation and intonation, after Junhui and Mingming are deemed acceptable for the studio.

Jihoon has command of the floor, as usual, and he doesn’t beat around the bush. There’s a seriousness in his eyes and tone, his words and actions sharp from the series of all-nighters he’s had to pull to finish the album. He doesn’t latch onto anyone’s jokes, but he isn’t cruel either when he makes polite suggestions regarding things to try in order to improve. Junhui appreciates all of his tips, and incorporates them best he can during his session. Most of his lines are just to take advantage of his whispering skills anyway, but Jihoon advises him on how to prevent his plosive phonemes from overpowering and becoming too loud against the microphone. His actual sung parts go pretty smoothly since they’re quite short, and he manages to escape without even needing to go for a water break.

He waits on the bench behind Jihoon when Mingming does his recording, and it goes even faster than Junhui’s, partially because of the line distribution, but mostly because Mingming’s Korean is still better than his after all these years. Junhui likes to blame it on the fact that Mingming arrived in Korea when he was younger, and still had some of his language acquisition ability, although that doesn’t seem to have worked the same way with Minghao. It’ll be years before Junhui can admit that Mingming’s just talented and smart.

Despite getting compliments and applause for doing so well, Mingming comes out of the recording room with a tiny frown on his face, not majorly different from his normal neutral expression. But Junhui knows him well enough to see the tiny change.

“Why are you so grumpy?” Junhui whispers into Mingming’s ear when he walks over to him, conscious of the fact that more recordings are going on.

Before Mingming can reply, Jihoon shoots him a dirty look even though Jisoo isn’t actually ready to start yet. Junhui takes the hint anyway, and grabs Mingming’s hand. “Come on.”

Outside, Mingming scuffs his shoe on the vinyl flooring, not really amused by Junhui’s poking and prodding or his teasing.

“Hey,” Junhui says, straightening up. He stops jabbing his fingers into Mingming’s ribs, and looks at him seriously. “Look, if you don’t talk to me, who are you going to talk to? I’m not going to make a joke about you not having any other friends. What’s up. Tell me.” He tosses his hair back with a flick of his head so his bangs move out of the way and he can use both his eyes to look at Mingming’s face.

Mingming’s strange response is to chuckle. It’s the presence of his laughter, and absence of a smile, that triggers Junhui’s memory of a late night conversation about Mingming keeping something to himself. The memory’s gone as soon as he thinks of it.

“It’s silly, but I just suddenly thought you look a lot like Kim Heechul.” Mingming covers his mouth with one hand and takes a few controlled moments of deep breathing to stop his fit of giggles.

“Yeah I’m handsome but I don’t get it.” Junhui frowns. “Why was that funny?” He squints at him and blows a strand of hair out of his face again.

“I guess it isn’t that funny. I just thought it was oddly appropriate. It’s…” Mingming trails off, looking down the hallway.

Junhui has to nudge him with his elbow to get him to continue whatever it was he was about to say.

“Sorry. I don’t know if you were into Hallyu when this happened, but back when Super Junior-sunbaenims’ _Sorry Sorry_ came out, there was a commotion on social media over the fact that Heechul-sunbaenim only had four seconds in his part of the song.” He laughs again, lips downturned instead of point upward. “I just timed my line in the title track, and it’s exactly four seconds too.” His laughter without a smile on his face is chilling.

“Do you want greater line distribution?” Junhui asks cautiously, trying to make eye contact with Mingming who was avoiding the very thing. “I mean, if you spoke with—”

Mingming shakes his head firmly. “Don’t worry about it.” He fiddles with his fingernails. “It’s not important.” He’s looking off somewhere else again.

Junhui continues anyway. “I mean, there’s a reason we’re in the performance unit and not the vocal team, right? I suck at singing—”

“You shut your mouth. You can sing,” Mingming says harshly, attention snapped back to Junhui so quickly it startles him.

Junhui gapes at him. “Did you just compliment me? Are you an alien? Do I need to get you checked for stolen identity?”

Mingming starts walking down the hallway. “I told you to shut up!”

 

* * *

 

“Ew,” Mingming says, wrinkling his nose. He tilts his nose up away from the computer screen and tosses a wadded up piece of paper at it. “Look at you, all dressed up with your hair all curly and greasy. I can’t believe I didn’t watch this when it came out, this is honestly comic gold.”

Junhui huffs. “My appearance isn’t meant to be funny! It’s the character’s quirks that are actually interesting.” His protests fall on deaf ears.

Mingming rolls his eyes and rests his chin in one hand. “I can’t believe they gave you all voice overs. Well, I can believe it, but I wish they hadn’t. It’s really weird hearing that voice come out of your mouth.”

“What, do you like the sound of my voice?” Junhui waggles his eyebrows and Minghao, who’s lying down behind them, tosses a piece of food at his head.

“Stop flirting, and stop drifting closer to each other. Your heads are in the way and I want to see the screen. Find a time when no one else is in the room to be all lovey-dovey, not while I’m here, please and thank you.”

Mingming shoves Junhui so he falls sideways and flashes a peace sign at Minghao, who grins back at him. “Anyway, no, it’s just that the voice actor doesn’t sound nearly greasy enough to match your face.”

“Hey!” Junhui protests, righting himself and stealing a cracker from Minghao’s stash. “This face is not greasy,” he says while chewing, “it’s extremely handsome. There was consensus about this face being the most handsome on set.”

“Urgh that reminds me why I didn’t want to watch this show,” Mingming complains. “You kept hanging off of that guy who wasn’t even hot.”

“Are you jealous?” Minghao interjects. Junhui shrieks with laughter and slaps Mingming’s knee repeatedly.

“Xiaohao is right isn’t he? You were jealous! How come you never said anything to me earlier, oh man this is priceless, you sould have told me and—”

“—And nothing would have changed. You would have just flirted more with him to make me angry.” Mingming scowls and crosses his arms.

“Oh no, now you’re pouting. Don’t do that. You’re very cute when you pout and Minghao’s too innocent for me to do anything about it while he’s here.”

Minghao screams into his hands. “Why did I think watching this with you two would be a good idea? You can fight and be flirty in the same breath and alternate between the two faster than I can blink!”

“Yeah that was a bad call on your part, to be honest,” Junhui says without turning to look at him. He has his fingertips underneath Mingming’s chin, tickling there while Mingming forces out a smile.

Minghao jumps and runs to the door, calling out, “For the record, Mingming and I are the same age so I don’t know why you think one of us is pure when the other definitely isn’t!”

“Hmm, he’s right, you are kinda naughty,” Junhui teases once the door is closed. “But doesn’t it feel like we’re a family when it’s us three, I’m the mom, you’re the dad, Minghao’s our child…”

“Stop talking about other kids, Wen Junhui,” Mingming growls, before pouncing forward to crash their lips together in a bruising kiss.

 

* * *

 

It takes a while for all of them to pile in, find a chair, and locate the nearest microphone. There’s staff rushing around to make sure everyone has a seat and that the cords aren’t tangled together in case a microphone has to move around. Mingming sits behind Junhui and bounces his knee up and down while they wait to settle in and start.

“Ahh there’s so many of you!” The radio host exclaims once the cameras start rolling. They all chuckle awkwardly, as if they hadn’t heard that one before. Still, there’s gratitude they’re being noticed at all, and asked to participate in these shows for promotion.

They go through the usual rounds of what’s your title track about, being impressed that they’re self-composed and self-choreographed, and a few of the members do their variety tricks that they’ve done before. Mingming nearly falls asleep at the monotony of it all. He perks up when they say there’s a small space for them to show off some dancing, since there’s a performance team. Mingming’s had choreography prepared for an opportunity like this for ages, but as always it’s Chan and Soonyoung who go up to perform before they don’t have time for anyone else. His laughter at Chan’s Michael Jackson cover is tinged with bitterness. He doesn’t really want to be praised, just wants the opportunity to be acknowledged once in a while.

One of the final questions they get asked is, “Do you have any plans to promote overseas? Can you say something to your overseas fans?”

Mingming could answer this question in his sleep he’s heard it so often. And nothing else, because this is the only question anyone has time for asking. He doesn’t know if it’s because of the pre-selected list or if no one _cares_ but it seems pointless to answer the same question in the same way in thirteen separate interviews. Couldn’t you just search it up online at this point?

Seungcheol speaks up first. “We want to focus on our current activities, although it would be great if we could meet our global fans in the future, especially since we have several international members who can speak English or Chinese. While the lack of language barrier allows us to be closer to the fans, for now, we have to be able to make good music in Korean before we think about expanding.”

It’s nothing new, but the response from the person interviewing them is an overdramatic one. “Wow! What a diplomatic answer. That sounds very well-thought out. How about we get your members to speak in English and Chinese and greet some of those patiently waiting foreign fans then?”

Jisoo and Hansol both say some short messages in English and Junhui, Minghao, and Mingming play a round of “you!” “no you!” with their eyes to decide who should talk on their behalf. As always, it’s Junhui who thanks the fans for their support and asks them to keep giving Seventeen their love and support. Mingming’s grateful because if he had to speak, he doesn’t think he could maintain the light-hearted or happy tone for long enough to finish a sentence.

Hearing Junhui speak in mandarin is kind of jarring today, and brings a strange pang to his chest. He thinks it might be that he’s just not ready for it when it comes, even though he’s heard it before, whether it’s on the phone, whispered lullabies in his ear, or at other broadcasts. There’s a stinging in his throat, in his face, in his chest, and it isn’t until after they’ve done their bows and said that Mingming realizes what the feeling is. He misses home. Outside, it’s almost starting to rain.

 

* * *

 

“Everyone get your asses over here! Doyoon-hyung’s on TV!” Seungkwan shrieks excitedly, jumping up to sit on his knees, and bouncing on the couch cushion.

Wonwoo and Mingyu arrive first, jostling each other to get the other spots on the sofa, tossing pillows around to make room, and so others can sit comfortably on the floor. The rest filter in after them with low excitement, although it’s a while through the episode before they first spot Doyoon’s character.

Minghao’s eyes are wide and glued to the television screen. “He’s really handsome, isn’t he?”

Junhui laughs. “I forgot you hadn’t gained immunity to Doyoon-hyung’s charms like the rest of us.”

“Aren’t I handsome too?” Seungcheol asks cutely, looking at Minghao while batting his eyes.

“Of course!” Minghao agrees solemnly, tearing his eyes away from the screen to look innocently at Seungcheol. He nods his head for emphasis. “Super handsome.” He flashes a thumbs up at him.

Seungcheol ruffles his hair, eyes crinkled with fondness, and then pulls Minghao in for a hug that squeezes the air out of his chest. Minghao doesn’t make a single noise of protest.

“I have to say, hyung’s a pretty good actor. I’m glad he got to do the role. For a moment I totally believed that whole hostility act before I remembered that Dodo’s basically a giant fluffy puppy,” Jihoon comments from his arm chair.

“Yeah.” Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “If only he weren’t so soft on all of you, maybe you’d all be less insolent toward your elders.”

“I have a healthy dose of respect…for people who’ve earned it,” Jihoon snarks. He sticks his tongue out and goes back to poking Junhui’s knee, but glaring whenever Junhui, who’s sitting on the arm of the seat, looks ready to retaliate.

“I’m just glad he’s doing well,” Jisoo says softly, the smile on his face not revealing any teeth, but sincere nonetheless.

Soonyoung sits up and slides closer to the television. “Yeah, and he’s getting to do what he actually wanted to do, isn’t he? That’s good for him. It would have been a shame if he were stuck doing things he didn’t actually like just to get to these drama roles, especially since he’s made it into them now without being an idol first. Probably better for his reputation too.”

“I thought I’d be more upset, and I do really miss hyung, but it’s just nice to see that everything’s going fine for him,” Seokmin says. He toes Hansol’s shirt to cover the waistband of his jeans.

“I don’t know what I’d do without Seventeen,” Chan declares, “But Doyoon-hyung apparently does.”

“And he’s thriving too…” Mingming murmurs quietly.

Junghan hesitates a bit before speaking, tucking a strand of hair behind his ears. “Doyoon always sat quietly with me during those weeks when I was a stranger. He never prodded or anything…and I’m really grateful that he never moved away to talk to someone else even though I was so quiet.”

“He really was always so nice to everyone, and he was funny too,” Wonwoo adds.

“Yah! You guys, we’re not remembering a dead person here,” Jihoon deadpans.

Chan glares at him and then whimpers and backs off when Jihoon glares at him too, which allows Junhui the chance to poke Jihoon in the side and run away, chirping triumphantly. Seungcheol wheezes. “Thank you, Jihoonie, for always knowing how to ruin the moment.”

 

* * *

 

It’s raining. Mingming breathes in the humid air deeply, moisture sitting thick against his skin. The smell of wet pavement fills his nostrils and he smiles.

Junhui is sitting with Mingyu and Minghao when Mingming returns to the dorms, cheeks flushed red and blotchy from the cold, dry wind outside, bangs and face damp from the droplets of rain that had managed to get past his hood. Junhui beckons him over and he slides off his muddy shoes, hands still held in his pockets to keep them warm. Mingming notices that his hair is pulled up and tied at the top of his head, probably Mingyu’s handiwork.

“You missed Fengjun, which is a shame because I think he’s ready to like Mingyu more than you if you aren’t around to spoil him with compliments,” Junhui says, swatting his thigh to make him sit down.

Mingyu flashes a triumphant smile and Junhui reaches out a hand to run his fingers over his face to wipe away the smirk.

“You’re going to have to work hard though, Fengjun’s been calling Mingming his favourite for years now. I’m still trying to learn how not to be jealous. Also, you can’t speak Chinese.”

Mingming grins cheekily back and Mingyu and unzips his jacket, throwing it off dramatically like it’s a robe for a king. Some of the water that’s beaded on the fabric from the rain flies off and leaves small puddles on the flooring. He turns his attention to Junhui and shoves his fingers against a wet spot before attacking his neck, leaving Junhui shrieking and elbowing him back in the ribs with all his might.

Mingyu huffs. “That’s true but everyone can speak the language of love! And we can totally teach him Korean! I can be doting too, just watch. You have to notify me every time you talk to your little brother, hyung!” He sticks his tongue out at Mingming.

“Hang on a second, why aren’t I in the running to be Fengjun’s favourite?” Minghao interrupts. “I’m the one who can do all the cool breakdancing tricks and stuff. Next time you have to let me show him!” He jabs Junhui’s shoulder. Junhui jabs back and Mingming patiently separates them.

“Look how quickly Minghao’s Korean has improved since he started learning! I’m going to teach Fengjun an entire new language and I’ll be the coolest hyung he’s ever had,” Mingyu declares, folding his arms over his chest.

Mingming briefly looks at Minghao, whose Korean has gotten a lot better. He’s getting more lines for it too. Mingming’s Korean has always been really good but that hasn’t really given him an advantage in line distributions. Things are looking better for Minghao, however, and he’s glad for it. Mingming hopes Minghao can keep improving and getting more lines since he never did.

“If we’re competing for who gets to be coolest-hyung, it’s definitely going to be me,” Wonwoo says, wandering over with an arm slung around each of Soonyoung and Seokmin’s shoulders.

For some reason this rouses Seungcheol, who jumps into the foray yelling, “It’s gonna be me!”

It’s good to know that Junhui’s introducing everyone to Fengjun, because all the members can dote upon him now. The kid’s so bright he deserves it. Fengjun is exuberant even in the face of the language barrier, and demands that they translate any Korean so he can understand what they’re talking about at all times. And despite what Junhui said about being his favourite, there’s no one Wen Fengjun adores more than his older brother. In some ways they remind him of each other, particularly in the way they love openly, wholeheartedly.

It’s also hilarious that they can be facing hoards of screaming fangirls and still want to vie for the attention of a ten-year-old boy. Mingming just smiles, shaking his head at it all.

They disperse after Junhui agrees to a “Fengjun’s Factor” competition night sometime down the road, leaving Junhui to pull Mingming into a hug. Mingming looks down at the top of Junhui’s head with a fond expression.

“Where were you, anyway,” Junhui murmurs into his neck, limbs wrapped around him like a koala around a eucalyptus tree.

Mingming shrugs the shoulder Junhui isn’t resting on and looks away, heart aching. “Nowhere.”

 

* * *

 

Mingming drags Junhui to a tiny, tucked away café at six in the morning and then disappears for nearly an hour. The sky is dark, both from the time of day and the grey clouds that roll, so that when the sun does rise, it’s still gloomy out. Junhui doesn’t know what Mingming’s up to but falls asleep sprawled across the table, face mask firmly in place. When he wakes, Mingming is holding out a present for him.

“Was this what you were up to?” Junhui asks groggily, rubbing at his eyes. “Couldn’t you have bought it first and then dragged me out here? Let a guy sleep a little.”

Mingming laughs and shakes his head, tutting quietly. “I even got you coffee so you’d be awake, did you drink any of it?”

Junhui takes a sip of it now. “Whatever, I had a good nap.”

“Alright, that means you’re awake now. Come on.” Mingming drags him out the door by the hand, squeezing pointedly before letting go once they’re out on the streets. Their faces are covered by masks, faces bare, hair un-styled, and huge winter jacket hoods covering their heads. When he’s daring enough, Mingming rests his head against Junhui’s shoulder, and Junhui never does anything but lean back.

The backs of their fingers brush while they walk, each touch sending tingles through Junhui’s arm, up and down his spine, and filling him with happy anticipation. This is probably why he spends so much of his time pretending to beat Mingming up. If he purposefully touches him with the goal of inflicting pain, his mind isn’t made aware of his body’s visceral responses to being in such close proximity to Mingming. His heartbeat is always faster when they’re in the same room together, and he’s just gotten used to the feeling of attraction flowing through him, has learned to dampen that feeling when others are around.

It’s not a schoolboy crush, but they’re not really…Junhui doesn’t know what they are. What he knows is how he feels, and is confident that Mingming feels the same way. It’s enough.

The time of day is early enough that there’s no one around, although it means most of the stores aren’t open either. They’re content just to wander around, looking at shop fronts and giggling or taking pictures of pretty displays. Most of the time they don’t even choose their own clothing anymore, but it’s nice to look around, until there’s an ominous booming of thunder and a white flash of lightning against the dark skies. They grab a quick breakfast and run back to the dorms, nearly beating out the rain, but getting drenched as they’re sprinting around the last corner and up the street.

“Are you guys just coming back? We already made the breakfast order so you’ll have to—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Mingming tells a frowning Soonyoung, who’s scratching his head with the eraser end of a pencil while staring down at his sticky note. “We already ate.”

“Ooooh where?” Seungkwan asks, popping out from the bathroom door. He studies them, and then throws each a towel to dry their wet hair and necks.

Junhui and Mingming look at each other and Junhui pulls a silly face. Mingming smiles and squeezes his arm.

“On a date, obviously. Do you even need to ask?”

“A date!” Seungkwan screeches, clapping his hands.

Soonyoung looks up, the perplexed expression still on his face. “Wait, a date, or like a _date_?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Junhui winks and takes Mingming’s hand in his so they can walk together to go change out of their soaking clothes.

“You’re smiling more again,” Junhui whispers to him after tugging on a pair of clean and dry sweatpants. “I’m glad. There was a period of time when you were less smiley and I missed it. See you outside.” He waves behind him as he leaves Mingming to finish changing.

Mingming’s smile dies on his face, eyes burning a hole through the closed door. He takes a deep breath and clenches his fists. His heart is shattered glass that pierces his feet with every forward step he takes.

 

* * *

 

They’re made to line up in a row, staff solemnly demanding that they stand with their hands behind their backs, facing the CEO in a studio like they’re about to be scolded as a group. Everyone’s expression is grim. This hasn’t happened in years, and Junhui is weirdly nostalgic about something that used to be a strikingly unpleasant experience. He turns slightly to elbow Mingming and ask if he remembers those times, but the person standing beside him is Hansol, so he turns back to face the front.

Then, the CEO tells them that Mingming’s terminating his contract effective immediately, and Junhui’s entire world falls apart.

 

* * *

 

> _Zeon Fai…I regret not calling you that more often when I had the chance. By the time you get this voice message, you’ll have already heard the news. I’m leaving._
> 
> _Let me be honest. I don’t know when it started or why. But the trip yesterday had a separate purpose, which was to meet with the lawyers that are going to take me through the case. I don’t know how it started, but I do know that the decision was made when I realized Doyoon-hyung was doing much better without the company than when he was here, and the fact that none of us resented him for it._
> 
> _Zeon Fai, I know you’re going to need to hear this, so let me say that while I’m going away, I’m not leaving you. In the end, I guess the physical outcome is the same, but I hope you know my heart after all these years._
> 
> _You have people around to take care of you. You have our leader with enough heart to fit in 13 kids and never forget one, and Soonyoung-hyung who always notices when someone’s even a little down, and Mingyu-ya who still looks up to and adores you like when we were in that green practice room. Junghan-hyung and Hansol and our child Minghao won’t let you be alone. Wonwoo-hyung will eat with you and joke around with you and my point is that you aren’t alone. And you’ll be okay. And this will be better for me._
> 
> _Please know I only stayed as long as I did because of you. You made every day from trainee through our last album easier, and I really did want to stay by your side. I’ll miss you. I…I lo—I’m sorry._
> 
>  

* * *

 

Junhui scrubs his face with hot water until his skin is raw and the redness matches his swollen eyes.

He hasn’t cried yet.

Someone’s hand bats his away to turn off the tap, and fingers that feel too cold against his overheated and sensitive skin wrap around his wrist. He’s tugged forward, dragged down the hallway and gently shoved onto the sofa. Junhui can’t be sure if he’s resisting or not because all of him feels numb.

He’s still not crying when there’s a warm mug of tea pushed at him, and he holds it without drinking, letting the swirling steam mist into his face. A different person is now running their fingers through Junhui’s hair and he shivers. It feels off.

It feels off because the pinky finger that intertwines around his own isn’t Mingming’s. It’s Minghao’s and he’s sitting pressed against Junhui like he’s about to crumble. It makes it harder for Junhui to let himself feel things when he thinks he has to be strong for someone else. Mingming should be here. Mingming was the one who picked Junhui up and put him together when he was upset. Mingming was gone.

Only after Seungcheol picks Minghao up to put him to bed and the only people left in the living room are Soonyoung, who’s sitting on the arm of the sofa, Jihoon, who’s sitting in front of him on the floor by his legs, and Wonwoo who sits beside him on the couch, but maintains a few inches of space between them, does Junhui start sniffling.

The dam breaks and he pulls his feet up onto the couch and wraps his arms around his knees to bury his face in them when the tears really start coming.

Jihoon and Wonwoo are silent around him, but Soonyoung murmurs “Shh…shh…shh…” consolingly. He has a steady stream of comforting words to mumble at him, and Junhui doesn't process any of them but they’re nice nonetheless, serving as a reminder of their presence.

He cries for long enough that there aren’t any tears left at the end, and he’s just dryly heaving his chest, choked noises coming out of his throat as the salty tears dry on his face. Wonwoo looks at him earnestly and brings a tissue up to each cheek, before sitting back again to rub small circles on Junhui’s back. Junhui doesn’t process any of that either, but he’s starting to get feeling back in his skin, and the warmth clears his head a little, prompts him as to where he is and who he’s with, and why he’s upset in the first place.

The sobs die out slowly, although he still shudders once in a while in the aftershocks. He looks down at his hands and his vision swims in front of him. It feels like they’re covered in blood, and that he was the master of his own demise.

“Is this a dream?” He asks. This was surely a dream. He’s had this dream before. If he rolls over and reaches out a hand, it’ll be Mingming’s shoulder he touches.

Jihoon looks up from where he’s writing _파이팅! (｀_´)ゞ_ on Junhui’s bare foot with a black marker. “If it’s a dream, it’s a nightmare. And we’d have woken you up by now, because we’re your friends and we don’t want you to suffer,” Jihoon tells him gently.

“Mingming and I were friends too…Did I drive him away? Why didn’t I do enough for him to stay? It’s my fault isn’t it?” His voice starts out fairly even, but gets wobbly, and ends up barely a whisper.

“You’re still friends,” Soonyoung says firmly. “He’s just a friend who recognized what was best for him was different from what was best for us. It’s not because you weren’t enough, Junhui-ya, don’t ever think that.” He shoots a look at Jihoon. “And it’s certainly not his intention to make you suffer either.”

Wonwoo sucks in a breath slowly. “I know it’s different…” He looks at Junhui earnestly, and Junhui manages to meet his eyes. “But you have us. Things are going to be okay. You’re going to be fine, we’ll help you through it.”

Junhui nods before noticing that Wonwoo’s eyes are red rimmed too. Jihoon looks particularly tight-faced and Soonyoung has a deep frown. He’s not the only one who’s been affected, even though he’s been acting like it. And they’re unhappy, but they’re okay. They survived the news. Well, Junhui supposes he’s survived the news too. It’ll be learning to continue living on without Mingming that will be the hard bit.

Through the window, light filters in and Junhui realizes he’s kept them all up for an entire night. He looks up to peer at a clock and his eyes flicker over to the windows to see that the clouds have dissipated. The members are there with him. It’s different, between him and Mingming. It’s different, but…

The sun shines.

**Author's Note:**

> well, closure. 
> 
> all the best in 2016, everyone!
> 
>  
> 
> Note: Man Zeon Fai (or Man Chun-Fai as he seems to be credited for _The Pye Dog_ ) is the romanized Cantonese pronunciation of 文俊辉 (Wen Jun Hui in Mandarin).


End file.
